


Various Prompts

by luthor_pendragon



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Breakfast, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, Wedding Proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthor_pendragon/pseuds/luthor_pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of works based off prompts given to me by others. If you have an idea for a prompt, just a ship, or have a couple of lines you've thought of to be used, feel free to drop it in my inbox/askbox here or on tumblr. You can reach me at luthor-pendragon. I look forward to hearing from you and thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Where to next?" asked John.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is based off a one-sentence prompt from patternofdefiance.

“Where to next?” John asked. His hand was at his brow as the early evening sun shone in his eyes, reflecting off the various glass surfaces all around them.

Sherlock looked around. As much as he abhorred being away from London, he had to admit the bustling, neon-filled metropolis that was Las Vegas, Nevada wasn’t too bad. _Damn Mycroft_. The detective didn’t know what it was that had forced his brother to remove him from their home country for the time being, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to, but Sherlock had only gone along with the plan as long as John was able to come with him. He hated leaving his blogger behind, even when he needed the time alone to think about something. Fortunately, the voyage to the United States provided him with an excellent opportunity to study Americans, and all their social absurdities, up close; something he had, as of yet, been unable to do.

 _Ah, there it is._ Spying a small building down the street, Sherlock covered the eyes of his boyfriend and turned him towards it. John grunted in protestation at the action, but complied with it anyway, as he knew Sherlock always had something up his sleeve.

“You’re damn lucky I trust you, Sherlock Holmes, otherwise you’d be on your back right now,” growled John lightly as he was pushed down the sidewalk and through the milling crowds.

Sherlock smirked. “I thought you liked it when I’m on my back,” he whispered seductively in the doctor’s ear.

John gave a little chuckle, and kept walking, allowing Sherlock to lead him where he would, using the smallest twitch of his hands to tell him where to step. It was like when Sherlock had taught him to dance all over again, except this time, he was completely giving over control to the other man.

They stopped a moment later, Sherlock standing behind John, with his back to the street. The taller man let go and John opened his eyes to look up at where they’d gone. _It couldn’t be._

They had stopped in front of one of those fairly cheap, by Vegas standards, rent-a-minister, got-one-on-every-street-corner (indeed there were 3 others within just a 5-block radius), catering-to-the-walking-drunk wedding chapels, complete with cheesy fake flowers made of plaster mounted over the door and a tapestry of the classic wedding bells hanging next to it. The bright stained glass windows were offset on the white building by three large neon signs of the male/female symbols: one a double female, one a double male, and one a male/female; meaning that they catered not only to heterosexual marriages, but also to the newly legal homosexual ones. No doubt the bright azure double male symbol had been what caught the detective’s eye.

“No! Absolutely not, Sherlock.” The shorter man turned around to face his boyfriend, who looked, dare he say it, absolutely crestfallen.

Raising his eyebrows in shock, John continued in a gentler tone, not believing the image in front of him, “Wait, you’re serious?”

Sherlock was frozen, his right hand buried in his trouser pocket. He was frowning, his shoulders sagging a bit, eyes wide at John’s sudden outburst. _Surely he didn’t mean that?_ Sherlock loved his companion more than anything in the world, and as far as he knew, John felt the same. Wouldn’t that would mean he would say “yes”? But it was obvious he had underestimated his boyfriend’s natural stubbornness. Even after knowing everything about the man, Sherlock was ever being surprised by the ex-soldier.

As he gauged John’s reaction by deducing his minute, rigid body movements: that hint of a smile of disbelief, the frighteningly stern eye contact, the unusual stillness of his left hand, Sherlock’s own courage diminished with the passing seconds. He didn’t know any more if this was the right thing to do, let alone if he’d even be able to do it. Months of planning wasted, ruined by a single word.

John forced himself to maintain eye contact with the other man, trying to figure out just what exactly was going on that funny little head, despite what his own was telling him to do, when Sherlock looked away, shrugging his shoulder slightly. Following the action, John’s gaze drifted down until it rested on the detective’s long-fingered hand coming out of his pocket, clutching what appeared to be a very small box.

“John, I…” He swallowed, forcing down the impending feeling of vomit. This may have been the most nervous he’d ever felt in his life. He’d killed people, he’d jumped off a hospital roof, he’d been teased and beaten and gone through drug addiction withdrawals over and over again but nothing, nothing, had been as torturous as this moment was. Shaking, he slowly lowered himself to one knee, opening the box to reveal a smooth titanium ring nestled in the soft, black velvet. He held it up, the last bit of rosy sunlight shining off the metal, making it turn a variety of pinks and burnished oranges.

“John, I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t know if I ever have. But I do know this,” He spoke slowly, but with each word, Sherlock’s voice became steadier. The times he’d gone over this in his head, he thought he’d had it down, but now that he was right here, right in the moment, the words almost escaped him. “I am a ridiculous man, and after what I’ve done, that fact that you’ve found it in your heart to forgive me just knocks me down even further. But if you would just indulge me, I would beg one more miracle from you.

“I would ask you to marry me, John. To allow me to devote myself to you entirely and never leave your side again, no matter the circumstances.

“I love more than anything, and there’s nothing in this world that will ever change that. So please, John Hamish Watson, I beg of you, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Blue-green eyes bored into his own, glistening with the tears the younger man wasn’t letting fall, the light on the ring slowly fading as the sun went down. John didn’t know what to do with himself. It was a rare sight indeed for Sherlock Holmes, though flamboyant, almost flaky at times, in his emotional fluctuations, to show how he really felt deep down. But it was even rarer for him to do it in as public a place as this.

Yes, he was ridiculous. Yes, he had hurt John beyond measure and reason. And yes, John had forgiven him for that. But this was altogether on another level of discomfort for the sociopath. Never in a million years did the doctor believe the detective capable of something like this. And yet, here he was, on a dirty street in the United States, in front of a hundred strangers, asking John the ultimate question.

What else could he do?

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, surprised at the answer even though he’d expected it. “What?”

John bit back his urge to walk away, to deny the fact that this happened until he was able to process the enormity of it, but Sherlock was still kneeling there, waiting for an answer. “Yes,” he repeated, a little louder. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

It was still quiet, but Sherlock had always had impeccable hearing. He smiled, finally letting those tears drop over his cheeks. In a swoop, he stood up and took John into his arms, pressing his lips to the other man’s, attempting to convey all the love he’d ever felt, and could ever possibly feel, for the glorious creature in front of him. He felt the shorter man kiss him back, pushing his own feelings into the embrace. Hands drifted up around his neck and pulled him down tighter and he responded by picking the smaller man up off the ground.

A round of applause from the surrounding spectators brought them out of their cloud of bliss and Sherlock gently set John back down onto the concrete. Pulling the man’s left hand from over his shoulder, he gave it a gentle kiss on the palm, then deftly removed the ring from the box and set it onto the appropriate finger, completely in awe of what had just occurred.

“I love you, John,” he whispered.

John smiled. “I love you, too, idiot.”

Sherlock smiled back and gave him another soft kiss. “Come on.” He wove his fingers in between the doctor’s and pulled.

“What? Where?”

Sherlock cocked his head, giving John _The Look_. “The chapel, of course. Where else?”

The shorter man shook his head and planted his feet, despite the tether of flesh leading to the other man. “No.”

Confusion filled the detective’s face. “But you just said….”

“I know what I said,” cut in John, reining in his new fiancé. He gave the man another kiss and hugged him tight. “But not until we go back to London.”

The mention of home made Sherlock smile again. Even as he did so, his phone went off in his pocket.

Recognizing the ringtone, John giggled.

That may be sooner than you think,” smirked Sherlock deviously.


	2. Sabriel and Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt given to me by my buddy Danny on Skype because he was feeling low. I wanted to cheer him up.

Sam sat at the breakfast table scanning the local newspaper for anything up there alley. A steaming bowl of oatmeal and coffee sat in front of him, betraying just big of a health-nut he actually was. So far, though, no hits on the Supernatural hotline.

Not that it was a surprise. It had been quiet the last few weeks, and in a fit of climbing the walls, Dean had yanked Cas by the collar of his coat and hauled him out to the car. They’d been gone for two days now doing who-knows-what.

At least, it had been mostly quiet. With those two out of the bunker, and Kevin locked in his room driving himself crazy stooped over the Angel tablet (Sam hoped he was at least getting some sleep), that meant it was just Moose… and Loki.

As if on cue, the physically short archangel came into the kitchen, spun the other chair at the small table around and straddled it, cock-eyed smirk on his face and some dippable wafflesticks appearing before him on the table. “Mornin’, Sambo,” he crowed.

“Good morning, Gabriel,” sighed Sam, not looking up from the newspaper.

“What’s up, grumpygus? Not enough bland in your porridge?” He offered a sticky smile as two green-brown eyes flicked over to him, annoyed.

Sam put his paper down. “My oatmeal isn’t bland. And it’s way better for you than waffles.”

“As if!” laughed Gabriel. “It’s just oats and milk.” To spite the massive human in front of him, he replaces his wafflesticks with a bowl of oatmeal, visually identical to Sam’s. Taking a bite, his face scrunched. “See,” he choked, throwing down the spoon, “disgusting.”

Sam smirked. “You didn’t make it right.”

“What? Of course I did. It’s bland as shit. It’s blander than shit. This stuff tastes like sand.”

Sam shook his head, holding back a laugh. “You didn’t make it right,” he insisted. “And even tasting like sand, it’s better for you than pure sugar with artificial maple flavoring.”

Gabriel’s face screwed up and his gaze went stern, like he was concentrating. A sharp look from the younger Winchester told him to back off. He knew that look.

“You know how I feel about you rooting around in my head, Gabe.”

Giving up, the angel sighed. “Sorry. But I wanted to see why you like this stuff so much. You know that’s one of the things I find most infuriating about you, and therefore, one of the most fascinating. I always loved being in your head, Samsquatch, back when we were enemies. Seeing what makes you tick entertains me.”

“Your brothers thought the same thing.”

That was enough to shut him up. The air in the room went cold and the tension was almost palpable as the memory of countless years of torture in the Cage came rearing back to the surface. Sam’s face remained dark and he tried to focus on his paper again. Gabriel nodded silently and absentmindedly stirred his oatmeal. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched him. He always loved seeing the Almighty Archangel knocked down a peg. It kept up what little humility he had left. It made him smile, even if it was only to himself, and if it wasn’t, well, he did his best to make sure the other man didn’t see.

A snort and a laugh erupted from Sam’s mouth as Gabriel mindlessly put another spoonful in his mouth, his face instantly contorting into a look of disgust.

“Screw you, Samsquatch!” he said around his mouthful. Regretfully swallowing it down, he continued with, “Alright, what makes your ‘oh-so-healthy’ breakfast so much better than mine, hmm?”

It took a moment for the man to catch his breath. Wiping a tear from one eye, he answered with, “Before I answer that, answer me this: you don’t _have_ to eat, so why are you even asking?”

“….”

Sam’s eyebrow cocked up, almost in a mirror image of Gabriel’s. Human or angel, they most certainly were alike. Maybe that was how they got along so well, after all those years of pranks.

“Well…, well, because I like to,” Gabe stammered.

“Alright, fair enough,” nodded Sam, backing off and putting his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Here.” He then pushed his own bowl towards the other man.

Gabriel eyed it suspiciously before hesitantly taking a bite. His eyes closed as he melted. “I see.”

“Good?” Sam purred.

“Awesome.” He took another bite. “Cinnamon and honey.”

“Now do you realize your mistake?”

Gabriel nodded and got up, bowl and spoon in hand, and headed towards the door.

“What? Hey!”

“Hm? Oh.” The Archangel came back momentarily and kissed his boyfriend on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast, babe.” Then he left, munching happily.

Sam couldn’t do anything but shake his head and laugh. Pulling the still-steaming bowl on the other side of the table towards himself, he added his special ingredients again. Then, smiling, he returned to his paper. _This was going to be an interesting day_ , he thought.

 


End file.
